


In Which North Searches Fruitlessly for York

by RoyalHeather



Series: before there was red vs. blue there was project freelancer [9]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Angst, M/M, MOI Crash, RvB Angst War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-09
Updated: 2016-03-09
Packaged: 2018-05-25 18:26:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6205849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoyalHeather/pseuds/RoyalHeather
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>renaroo said: Angst prompt: “Where are you?!” North and York</p><p>Written for the RVB Angst War.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Which North Searches Fruitlessly for York

“YORK!” roars North, pulling aside a twisted sheet of blackened metal. Snow drifts across his visor and he brushes it away impatiently. “York, where the _hell_ are you?” _Theta, you gotta scan for his armor signature -_

_I know, I’m trying -_

“York!” North puts his shoulder to a chunk of hull, heaves it away, hoping for a glimpse of tan armor under the wreckage, and dreading the condition it might be in. “York, buddy, answer me -”

“He’s not _here,”_ snarls South. “Either that, or he’s dead -”

North ignores her, continuing to make his way through the ruin that was the _Mother of Invention._ York’s _not_ dead, and if he was, that wouldn’t make it any less important to find him -

 _North, I can’t find him or Delta anywhere,_ says Theta sadly.

“He has to be!” growls North, and punches a girder in frustration. “He was on the ship when it crashed, he wasn’t accounted for among survivors, he _has_ to be here somewhere -”

“Can we _go_ already?” yells South, from where she’s standing on top of a rocky outcropping. “They’re loading up the last of the Pelicans, why don’t you get on the one Wash is in and you can hold his hand -”

“I’m not leaving without York!” Grunting, he seizes a charred and ruined hunk of metal, ignoring the way the sheared-off edges cut into his palms. He’ll search until his hands bleed if he has to. “York, talk to me, where are you -”

“ _North,_ they’re _leaving -”_

“Go without me.”

“North -”

“I said GO!”

He doesn’t even look around to see if South will listen to him or not. Instead, he wades further deep into the wreckage, into the carcass of the _Mother of Invention_ itself. _He’s here, Theta,_ he growls. _We’re going to find him._

Theta, for once, does not respond.


End file.
